Don't Leave Me
by purplepagoda
Summary: What if things had transpired differently after Adrift (part 2). What if he pulled her in, instead of pushing her away? Would it change anything?
1. Take It Out On Me

She watches him from the parking lot as he hugs someone else. She's drenched in rain as she turns to leave. She gets into her car, and after a few more tears she turns on the engine. She puts the car into gear. As she pulls away from his building she asks herself where she's going. Home, or a bar, she questions silently. Where is she going? She shudders to think about the future.

He looks down at the woman in his arms. She smirks at him, and then steps back. He furrows his brow in confusion. She purses his lips as he folds his arms across his chest. She wipes the tears from her face.

"Harm," she says softly.

He hears her voice, but all he can think about is the Colonel's face.

"Harm," she repeats.

He makes eye contact. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to go."

"You just got here. I thought that you want to stay. I…"

She cuts him off, "I don't want to stay somewhere that I don't belong. Life is too short to try to make something work that is never going to."

"What are you saying?"

"You need to go after her," she instructs.

"What?"

She grips his arm, "You need to go after her."

"Renee," he tries to reason.

"You don't love me," she points out.

He doesn't argue. He begins to speak, but she cuts him off.

"Don't!"

* * *

><p>A few minutes later in Georgetown she gets out of the shower, and wraps herself in a towel. She doesn't bother to look at herself in the mirror. All she wants is to curl up with a bottle of vodka, and cry herself to sleep. The sound of someone banging on her door startles her. She secures her towel, and hurries towards the door.<p>

She looks out the peephole, and quickly unchains the door. Her heart skips a beat as she unlocks the dead bolt. She pulls the door open. He looks at her, as if he's staring through her.

"You're soaking wet," she tells him.

"Can I come in?"

She nods, "How did you get here?"

"I drove," he tells her.

"You're not cleared to drive yet, are you?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yes," she steps aside.

He steps into her apartment, and closes the door behind himself. She looks at him questioningly. He looks past her at the coffee table. Without a word he pushes past her. He moves towards the item reflecting light that rests on the coffee table. He removes the bottle, and makes a beeline for the kitchen. He opens the sealed bottle, and dumps it down the sink. He returns to the living room. She looks at him in confusion. She shakes her head.

"Harm what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"You should be with Renee."

"No," he shakes his head, "I shouldn't."

"She just lost her father."

"Mac," he tries to reason with her.

"I don't understand why you're here. Harm, please go."

"Sarah," he whispers taking a step closer to her.

She feels her breath hitch, and her pulse quicken as he moves towards her. She doesn't realize that she's only wearing a towel until there is only a few inches between them.

"I should put some clothes on," she tries to prevent the situation from going any further.

"You should definitely take that towel off," he tells her as he takes another step.

She looks into his eyes. His hand moves towards her, and doesn't stop until his fingers are cradling her chin. She ignores all of the red flags that her conscious throws up at her. She ignores the red light. She places her lips on his. He doesn't hesitate.

He wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. His hand finds a resting place on the small of her back. Her fingers pull at his shirt, quickly untucking it. He allows her to peel the shirt off of him. Within seconds the only thing between them is a towel. He places his hand on her hip. She doesn't tell him to stop. He proceeds to pull the towel away.

* * *

><p>In the morning she wakes up to the sound of snoring. She looks over at the culprit. She finds Harm lying in her bed, next to her, under her Egyptian cotton sheets. She nudges him. His eyes fly open, and he rolls towards her. She smiles at him, widely as she pulls her sheet up.<p>

"Morning," she grins.

"Mac," he swallows hard.

She sees the color drain from his face. Her heart sinks.

"Harm…"

"About last night," he begins.

"What about last night?" She questions.

"I think that last night was a bit hasty."

"After all of this time, you think that last night was a bit hasty?"

"We both just got out of relationships, and into bed with each other. Sarah, I don't want to obliterate whatever potential this has."

"What are you saying?"

"We need to slow down," he warns her.

"Slow down? Don't you think that it's a little late for that?"

"If this has any hope of working, we need to take our time."

"Our time? You mean your time," she argues.

"Mac, just hear me out," he insists.

She shakes her head, "No. Clearly you think this was a mistake. I am tired of you waiting to make up your damn mind."

"Calm down," he begs.

"Get out!" She raises her voice.

"Mac," he tries to reason with her.

She shoves him out of her bed, "Go!"

He gathers his clothes off the floor, and heads for the door. She opens the front door, and shoves him out. She grips the sheet that is wrapped around her with one hand, as she hands him his shoes with the other.

"Mac," he tries to remedy the situation.

She slams the door in his face.


	2. Headphones

The moment that the door slams in his face he raises his fist to knock.

"Mac, please just hear me out," he begs.

She stares at the door, willing him to go away.

"I'm not leaving until we talk about this," he insists.

She begrudgingly reopens the door. She allows him to step inside the apartment. He closes the door, and places his shoes on the floor.

"Is it easier for you to just push me away when things don't go your way?" He asks.

"I just want…"

He cuts her off, "I want this to work."

"You're not making a very good effort," she points out.

"Why do you have to make this so damn hard?" He growls.

"Me? You are the one who makes everything so damn complicated," she argues.

"I think it would be a mistake for us to just jump into a relationship. Mac a couple of weeks ago you were getting married to another man."

"I know."

"I just think that we should get ourselves in order before we try to work on whatever is going on between us."

"What about last night?" She queries still wrapped in a towel.

"We got caught up in the moment," he explains.

"What are you telling me?"

"We need to pump the brakes," he answers.

"What have we been doing?"

"Mac, please."

"I am so tired of waiting around for you."

"You're tired of waiting for me, or you're tired of waiting?"

"Excuse me?"

"You want what you want, and you want it right now."

"So?"

"So, you can't have everything that you want when you want it," he tries to reason with her.

"I have tried to be patient."

"Patience isn't your strong suit. Mac, please just trust me."

"I do trust you, that's the problem" she finally locks eyes with him.

"I know that you are tired of being alone. I know that you are ready to get married, and start thinking about the future."

"But, you're not?"

"I am ready to take this one step at a time."

"You walk rather slowly these days."

"Did you ever think that maybe you just walk to fast?"

"What are you asking me, here?"

"Can you be content just to walk beside me?"

"That is what I have been doing for the past five years."

"Is that a no?"

"You want space?" She probes.

"Yes, are you going to fault me for that?"

"Harm I don't know how long I can wait."

"I am not asking you to wait forever."

She smirks, "No, just until we're retired, senior citizens, maybe by then you will finally be ready."

"If we rush this it will end about as successfully as my last flight did."

"We'll nearly drown?"

"Yeah," he nods.

"And you'll nearly die?"

"Something like that."

"Okay."

"You're just saying okay so I'll leave, aren't you?"

"Probably," she nods in confirmation.

"How long are you going to be mad at me?"

She shrugs, "I don't know."

"I should go."

"That is the first thing that you've said all day that I actually agree with."

He turns to leave. She watches him go, closing the door behind him. She heads into her bedroom, and proceeds to get dressed.

* * *

><p>The following day at work she finds herself distracted. She's sitting behind her desk, staring at her computer, blankly. She's thinking about Harm's notable absence. He hasn't returned to work just yet. She feels herself replaying the events of the past 72 hours. She's so consumed by thought that she doesn't hear someone enter her office.<p>

"Ma'am," the gunny repeats.

She looks up at Victor, "Huh?"

"Ma'am did you hear me?"

"Sorry, gunny I was distracted. What did you say?"

"I have the file that you asked for earlier," he waves a manila folder.

She nods as he extends his arm across her desk. She slips it from his grip.

"Thank you, gunny."

"You're welcome, ma'am," he smiles, "Anything else?"

"No, that will be all."

"Ma'am you are aware that it's after two, right?" He questions before leaving the room.

"Is that significant?"

"You've been in here since you finished in court four hours ago."

"I've been busy gunny."

"You never went to lunch."

"I don't have time today. I've got to finish reading these case files so that I'll be prepared for court tomorrow."

"You're sure that I can't help you?"

"I'm sure."

"Ma'am I would like to remind you that you have a meeting at two thirty."

"Thank you, gunny."

He leaves the room. Without a word he closes the door behind himself, despite the fact that it was open when he entered. She opens the case file that he's given her. She begins to read the file. By the time that she's finished reading all the case files it's after seventeen hundred. She's making notes when someone knocks on her door.

"Enter," she gives permission.

Harriet enters the room.

"Do you need something lieutenant?"

"I just came to ask you if you needed anything before I go."

"No, thank you for the offer."

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Simms?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You just seem different today," Harriet observes.

"I'm just distracted, I guess."

"Okay," Harriet decides not to push the matter any further.

"You should get going," Mac tells her.

"Aye," she agrees.


	3. What Are You Drinking About?

She eventually leaves the office. She gets in her car, with all intentions of heading home. Halfway there, on an impulse she pulls into a parking lot. She puts the car into park, and pulls the keys out of the ignition. She exits the vehicle, without a second thought. She enters the building, and makes a beeline for a bar stool. She takes a seat at the bar. The bar is getting busy. She stares up at the bottles of alcohol on the shelf. They call her name, and she doesn't try to ignore them. The bar tender finally reaches her. He smiles at her.

"What will it be?"

"Whiskey sour on the rocks," she responds.

He nods, and turns to grab the bottle from the shelf. She watches as he drops ice into the bottom of a glass. He pours the liquid from the bottle of Jack Daniels. He places a napkin in front of her, and sets the drink on it.

"Thank you." He turns, and walks away. She looks around the bar. In the sea of faces she doesn't see a single on that she recognizes. She watches the people around her. Some of them commiserate in corner booths with their friends. Others celebrate at tables in the middle of the bar. A handful dance to the sound of the band. She exhales, and looks down the bar to her left. She finds lonely souls just like hers nursing their drinks alone. She shifts her attention to the drink in front of her. She reaches forward. Her hand grips the glass. The condensation on the outside of the glass presses against the palm of her hand. A hand wraps around her right wrist. She looks to her right, and finds a familiar face sitting next to her. She swallows hard as she looks him in the eye.

"What are you doing here?"

"I saw your car parked out front," he answers.

"I don't need this," she confronts him.

He takes the drink from her, "No, you don't," he agrees.

"I don't need you here, running my life," she clarifies.

"You need me, you just won't admit it."

"I need you to leave," she argues.

He swallows the drink, "You first."

Her nostrils flare, "Go to hell," she tells him.

He grins, "I would follow you there any day."

"Harm leave me the hell alone."

"Make up your mind, Sarah."

"Do you live to piss me off?"

"No."

She slaps money on the counter, and vacates her seat. She turns, and heads for the door. He doesn't follow her. She climbs into her car. She puts the key into the ignition, and turns the car on. She backs out of her parking space. She pulls out of the parking lot with a look of fury in her eyes. When she gets home she jumps into the shower.

She heads into the kitchen, wrapped in a towel. Her hair is still wet as she squats in front of the kitchen sink. She opens the cabinet doors. She sticks her hand inside the cabinet. She pushes aside the cleaning chemicals. Her hand touches a glass bottle. She pulls it out, and closes the cabinet. She rises to her feet, and places the bottle on the counter. She twists the lid off the Grey Goose. She looks at the sink, and seriously contemplates putting the half full bottle of alcohol to her lips. She sighs in defeat, and dumps the alcohol down the drain.

She doesn't sleep well that night. She wakes up at three o'clock in the morning. Her bed smells like him. She rips off the covers, and throws them on floor. She grabs a clean pair of sheets out of the closet, and re-makes her bed. Her sleep is fitful, and she's wide awake again by five o'clock. She climbs out of bed, and laces up her running shoes.

Her run takes her down the block. She's drenched in sweat before the sun even offers to rise. She stops in front of a church to catch her breath. She finds people entering the church, despite the fact that it's six o'clock in the morning. She glances at the sign out front. Two letters catch her eye. AA is listed at six o'clock. She shakes her head, and enters the basement of the church.

She enters the room that smells like stale coffee, and day old doughnuts. There are rows of yellow plastic chairs. She takes a seat towards the back. She clenches her jaw, silently listening to stories of other people in the room. She feels her anxiety rises, knowing it will be her turn soon. She quietly slips out of her chair. Someone clears their throat. She looks up as she tries to make it to the door.

"Mac, where are you going?"

She looks up, with a furrowed brow. The pastor looks at her. She doesn't wear a nametag, and she certainly has not introduced herself. She looks at the pastor. She groans, inwardly, recognizing the pastor as a former marine that she served with at one point. He motions for her to come to the front of the room. She nods, and makes her way to the podium. She swallows hard.

"My name is Sarah, and I'm an alcoholic," she explains.

The group greets her. After telling her story the next person takes the podium. She slips out the back door. She's just stepped onto the sidewalk when she feels fingers wrapping around her arm. She finds the pastor standing next to her.

"The meeting isn't over," he points out.

"I have to go to work."

"Don't we all?"

"When did you become a pastor?" She questions.

He grins, "Not soon enough," he responds.

"Nick, I never pictured you here," she admits.

"How could a drunk become a pastor, right?"

She doesn't respond.

"The answer is, he doesn't."

She furrows her brow, "I don't understand."

"I've been clean and sober for eight years," he reveals.

"Oh."

"Thanks to you."

"Me?"

"Something you said."

"I don't recall," she admits.

"I do, and it brought me here. It brought me to a meeting, and after I got sober I heard the call again, but this time it wasn't my country calling me."

"Good for you."

"I'm married, and I've got a little girl. It's all thanks to you."

"I don't want to take credit for anyone's sobriety but my own."

"What are you doing here?"

She grins, "It ain't the whiskey," coyly.


	4. Never Let Her Go

The next couple of weeks consist of Mac attempting to avoid Harm to the best of her abilities. She tries to stay professional, while keeping him at a distance. It's late on a Friday. She sits behind her desk, at the computer. She works on typing a witness list. She hears footsteps coming her way, and looks up from the screen. She finds Harm standing in her doorway with his arms folded across his chest.

"How long are you going to avoid me?"

She shrugs, "I didn't know that I was."

"Mac stop playing games. If you have something to say, then say it."

"Leave me alone," she responds.

"You don't mean that," he disagrees.

"You know why this never works?"

He takes a step into her office, "Enlighten me."

"Because we never want the same things at the same time."

"How long are we going to ride this merry-go-round that we're on?"

"Last time I checked, you were the one at the controls."

He shakes his in disbelief, "I am never at the controls."

"I disagree."

"Why can't we ever see eye to eye?"

"Maybe you should ask yourself that."

"Dammit, Sarah! Stop making everything to damn complicated."

She glances past him, into the bullpen. He looks behind him, and shakes his head, "There is no one else here. It's just the two of us."

"Why are you still here, so late?"

"Why are you?" He counters.

"I have work to do," she replies.

"You're not the only one."

"If you have work to do then why are you in here?"

"I thought that you might be hungry."

She rolls her eyes, "You think breaking bread will fix all of this?"

"My work can wait," he admits.

"Mine can't."

"Yes, it can. Stop being so stubborn," he pushes her.

"As soon as you stop being such an asshole."

"I didn't do anything to you."

"You gave me false hope. You pull me in, just to push me away."

His nostrils flare, "Now you know how I feel."

"I wish that you would just drop it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I have to work with you every day."

"You could go fly F-14's and you wouldn't have to see me every day."

"Is that what you want?"

"What if it is?"

"I don't think you even know what you want."

"I want to stop spinning in circles."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"This is where I leave you."

He furrows his brow, "You're going somewhere?"

"I am getting off this damn ride. I don't want to be on it anymore."

"What are you saying?"

"I am done. I'm out. Do whatever the hell you want to do, I don't care anymore."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to, just know that I am not going to spend the rest of my life waiting for you. I am done waiting. I am over it."

"Mac I asked for time, not an eternity."

"Too bad."

"Mac, please. Let's start over."

"This is exactly why it won't ever work. You're saying, 'Let's start over.', and I'm telling you that it's too late."

"You never gave me a chance," he argues.

"I gave you a million chances, and you never took them."

"So now what?"

"We keep it professional."

"Fine," he relents.

"Is that all?" She cocks an eyebrow.

"Yes," he nods.

"If you don't mind, I have work to do."

He nods, and leaves the room. She watches him walk away. She finishes typing her witness list, and pushes print. She collects the list from the printer, and files it away. She grabs her belongings, and leaves the office.

A couple more weeks pass, and the tension between them only grows. Harm enters the conference room. He takes a look at his watch. The admiral sits at the end of the table. He looks up at him, questioningly.

"Where is Mac?"

"She's not coming in today."

"So who am I opposing?"

"Lieutenant Roberts, he'll be here in just a moment."

"Where is Sarah?"

"She's sick."

He furrows his brow, "Oh."

"Something wrong?"

"No," he shakes his head.

"What did you think I was going to say?"

"That she was assigned somewhere TAD."

"What would make you think that, Rabb?"

"Nothing, sir," he lies.

"You seem surprised that she's sick. Then again, maybe she's not. Maybe she is just sick of dealing with your antics."

"My antics?" He arches an eyebrow, "What about her antics?"

"I will tell her the same thing that I am telling you, I don't know what the hell is going on between the two of you, and I don't care to. Whatever it is, you need to fix it. If you don't there will be consequences."

"What kind of consequences?"

"If the two of you don't resolve this in a timely manner one of you will be reassigned."

"Sir!"

"That is the end of the discussion. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," he nods.

"Good."

"Do you really think that she's sick? She's like a robot I've never known her to be sick enough to call off work."

"Even robots get viruses now and then."

"Is that what she said?"

"I didn't take the call."

"What do you know?"

"She said that she was sick, and that is good enough for me. She has had perfect attendance. I am not going to question her for being sick, and asking for the day off. I don't want her here if she's sick. I don't need the rest of my staff catching whatever she has."

"If it's bad enough for her to call off, it's probably Ebola," he comments.


	5. Stay

She lies on the couch with a bottle of water on the coffee table in front of her. A trash can sits next to her. She lies there in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. When someone begins knocking on the door she groans, hoping that they will go away. She feels tired, and weak, and unwilling to go to the door. The knocking doesn't dissipate. She sighs.

"Who is it?" She calls out, shifting into a sitting position, reaching for the weapon lying on her coffee table.

"It's me," he replies.

"Go away," she tells him.

"Not until you open the door," he argues.

"It's open," she responds.

He twists the knob, and enters the apartment. He holds a brown paper bag. She furrows her brow.

"What did you bring?"

"You won't answer my phone calls," he tells her.

"That's a pretty big bag."

"I didn't know what was wrong with you, so I brought one of everything."

"What did you bring?"

"Cold medicine, cough drops. I made you some chicken soup. I brought some Gatorade, and some Vick's vapor rub. I wanted to cover my basis. Of course if you have Ebola, I am totally unprepared."

"I don't think its Ebola."

"Do you want some soup?"

She shakes her head, "No."

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"No."

He heads into the kitchen, and unloads his bag. He lifts the soup of the bag, and opens the cabinet for a bowl.

"Put it in the fridge," she instructs him.

"You have to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

He rolls his eyes, and puts the soup away. He grabs a bottle of Gatorade, and carries it into her. He places it on the coffee table in front of her.

"What's wrong with you?" He asks, taking a seat next to her on the couch.

She shrugs, and grins half-heartedly, "Ebola, probably."

"Are you contagious?"

"I don't think so."

"I don't see any tissues."

"It's not respiratory," she confirms.

"So what is it?"

"Food poisoning."

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly certain," she confirms.

"Do you need anything?"

"Nope."

"Are you going to be at work tomorrow?"

"That's the plan."

He looks at her questioningly. She looks pale, and there are dark circles under her eyes. She looks as if she hasn't slept in a few days. He furrows his brow, and hates to ask, but it slips out before he can stop it.

"Have you been drinking?"

The vein in her forehead pulsates, "You think that I'm hung-over?"

"I think that it's a fair question."

"It's really unfair," she argues.

"You've obviously been throwing up," he points out.

"It's food poisoning," she argues.

"I want to believe you."

She shakes her head, "No you don't. All you can see is…"

He cuts her off, "A marine sitting at a bar with a glass of whiskey."

"I haven't been drinking. Don't you think that you would know if I had?"

He shrugs, "I don't know. You're so damn good at hiding things."

"Go to hell."

"Mac," he tries to reason with her.

"Go," she points to the door.

"Mac…"

She shoves him off the couch. He rises to his feet, and turns to leave. She watches the door slam as he exits the apartment. She rubs her temples. For a moment she feels guilty for lying to him. She vacates her seat on the couch. She crosses the room to the door. She bolts, and chains the door. She turns, and leans against the door. The tears begin to fall before she lowers herself to the floor. She lowers herself to the floor, and draws her knees to her chest.

He sits at the island in his apartment. He stares at the window, and wonders where it all went wrong. His gut tells him that she's lying to him. He wants to believe her, but he can't. He sees her sinking, and he doesn't know how to help him. As per usual she pushes him away when she needs help. He asks himself if it was worth it.

He concludes that one night together wasn't worth throwing away everything else. He chides himself for allowing such a mistake to happen. Instead of bringing them closer, that night continues to push them further apart. He doesn't know how to drive away the wedge that is stuck between them. He thinks about his discussion with the admiral earlier in the day. He tries to figure out what he can do to repair his relationship with Mac. He wonders if he's pushed her too far this time.

She takes a deep breath in, as she tosses her laundry into the dryer. She stands in the laundry room tosses clothes into the dyer. She listens to the dryer as it spends around, and around. The sense of nausea hangs around as she empties the contents of the dryer into a laundry basket. She carries the laundry back to her apartment. She empties the contents of the basket onto the couch. She folds the clean clothes in silence. She ignores the phone when it rings. She ignores the answer that he leaves on the answering machine. She wonders how long it will take him to realize that this can't work, no matter how much either of them want it to.

She puts her laundry away once it's folded. She grabs a clean pair of pajamas, and makes a beeline for the bathroom. She turns on the shower head, and climbs inside. She's too worn out to dry her hair. She dries off with a fluffy white towel, and proceeds to pull on clean pajamas. She tosses her dirty clothes in the laundry hamper, and climbs into her bed. She flips off the lamp that sits on her bedside table, despite the early hour. She situates herself under the covers, and closes her eyes, hoping that sleep will find her sooner, rather than later.


	6. Dirt

Sleep does not come easily that night, for him. He tosses, and turns most of the night. He frequently has to untwist his covers, and attempt to get comfortable again. His bed seems empty, and his apartment seems to quiet. When he does fall asleep all he sees is her face. His slumber is short lived. The sound of nearby sirens bring him back to a state of consciousness. He glances at his alarm clock. It tells him that it's too early go get out of bed, and most likely too late to go back to sleep.

The instant that she closes her eyes the events of her day begin to replay. She tries to push the thoughts from her mind, but they play back in a loop as if they're on repeat. Her heads spins as she tries to make sense of what's happening to her. She tosses, and turns. Sleep seems like an unattainable goal as she reaches her third hour in bed, struggling to fall asleep.

* * *

><p><em>She wakes up at three o'clock in the morning for the third day in a row. She shoots out of her bed like a rocket. The covers fall on the ground as she pushes them aside, in an attempt to exit the bed quickly. She makes it to the bathroom just in time to find herself intimately acquainted with the porcelain toilet bowl. She's barely slept in days. A body gripping sense of nausea seems to be controlling her life. She remains in the bathroom, lying on the rug on the cold tile floor, in fear that if she's leaves the room she won't make it back in time. She falls asleep for a couple of hours. The second that she returns to consciousness the nausea overpowers her. She proceeds to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet once again. <em>

_ A few hours later she sits in the waiting room of her doctor's office. Her throat is sore from all the acid she has expelled in the past few days. Her stomach growls, but she refuses to eat. The only thing she can manage to keep down is clear liquid. The nurse calls her name, and she exits the waiting room. The nurse obtains her height, weight, and vital signs. She draws a blood sample, and leaves the room. _

_ She waits in the exam room for what seems like an eternity. She chokes back vomit at least once. Finally her physician enters the room. He closes the door, and reads through her chart. He examines her closely. Before he can begin to ask any questions there is a knock on the door. The nurse enters the room, and hands him lab results. He reads them, and places them on her chart. _

"_Sarah how long has this been going on?"_

"_Three days."_

"_What do you think is going on?"_

"_I think that I've got food poisoning. I ate Thai food three nights ago, and I've been sick ever since."_

"_You don't have food poisoning," he reveals._

"_So what is it? A virus?"_

"_It's not a virus."_

"_Please tell me that there is something that you can do. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. I can't keep anything down."_

"_Have you been feeling fatigued?"_

"_Yes. I've been puking for three days," she confirms. _

"_What other symptoms have you been having?"_

"_That's it," she insists._

"_I got some of your lab results back."_

"_So then you know what's wrong?"_

"_When was the first day of your last menstrual period?" He probes._

_She furrows her brow, and tries to recall, "Why are you asking?"_

"_It is important that you remember."_

"_Why?"_

"_There isn't much I can do for you, other than give you an anti-emetic, and I have a feeling that you won't take it."_

"_I'll take anything, if it just stops."_

"_I'll prescribe you some Zofran, but I have to caution you that it is a pregnancy category B."_

"_I don't know what that means, or why it matters."_

"_It means that there have not been studies done on pregnant women to determine the effects on a fetus."_

_She furrows her brow, and her heart skips a beat, "Why are you telling me this?"_

"_You're pregnant."_

"_I'm what?!"_

"_Mac, you're pregnant."_

"_There has been some sort of mistake," she argues._

"_Your blood test was positive," he reveals._

"_I…" her mouth suddenly feels very dry._

"_I am going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and the Zofran should you choose to take it. You need to follow up with your OB/GYN."_

_ When she gets home from the pharmacy she carries the bag into the bathroom with her. She dumps the contents of the bag onto the counter. She glances at a bottle of pre-natal vitamins, and a bottle of Zofran. She ignores them, and rips open the box with a pregnancy test inside. She proceeds to read the directions. She soaks the plastic stick in urine, and waits for it to change colors. Once she's certain that it has been long enough she takes the stick off the counter. The bright pink plus sign stares back at her. She swallows hard, suddenly feeling very nauseous. She manages to keep from getting sick. _

"_Shit," she mutters under her breath. Her nausea taunts her. She glances at the bottle of Zofran. It calls her name. All she wants is just a little relief. She has never felt this sick in her entire life, not even when she was an active alcoholic. She just wants all of this to go away. She unscrews the lid from the pill bottle. She turns on the faucet, and gets a sip of cold water. She stares at herself in the mirror. She swallows the prenatal vitamin. _


	7. Walk Away

The following day at work Mac exits the bathroom stall. She finds Harriet standing at the sink washing her hands. Harriet eyes her suspiciously as Mac turns on the faucet.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"Fine," she insists.

"You don't sound fine. You know, if you're still sick maybe you should go home."

"I don't think that's necessary," she disagrees.

"I know that you don't like to be sick, but…"

Mac cuts her off, "I am not going home."

"Ma'am I would hate for anyone else to get sick. Whatever bug you have seems to be pretty nasty. I'm honestly surprised that it hasn't gone away by now. Usually these things don't last that long."

"I don't think that this bug is going away anytime soon, unless I make it," she comments as she dries her hands off.

Harriet furrows her brow, "Ma'am?"

Mac walks away without another word. Towards the end of the day Mac is sitting in her office reading through a case file. She hears the sound of high heels moving towards her office. By the time she looks up Harriet is closing the door. She stands in front of Mac's desk.

"Can I help you?"

"Can I help you?" Harriet responds.

"Help me with what? I am just about finished with this case file."

"That is not what I meant."

"Is there something that you want to say?"

"I was thinking about what you said to me earlier."

"And?"

"You're pregnant," she states.

Mac locks eyes with her. She doesn't say anything.

"When did you find out?" Harriet presses.

"Yesterday," she admits.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Shoot me," Mac replies.

"Other than that?"

"No, thank you though."

"What you said…"

"I don't know what I'm going to do," she reveals.

"Well, I'm here, whatever you decide."

"I appreciated that. I…"

Harriet cuts her off, "If you need to talk, let me know. Whatever you say is between us."

She nods, and Harriet leaves the room.

That night she lies in her bed wide awake. She tosses and turns from side to side. Her mind is full, and her stomach is empty. She rolls onto her right side, and flips on the lamp. She shifts into a sitting position. She leans against the headboard. The soles of her feet rest against the mattress, and her are drawn up in front of her. She glances at the bottle of vitamins sitting on her bedside table. The reality of the situation hits her for the first time. The numbness she's been clinging to disappears in a single instant.

In a split second the situation becomes all too real. She allows the thought to finally sink in. The word, _pregnant_, echoes in her head. She reaches over, and grabs the bottle off the table. She reads the label in silence. Her names is clearly printed on the label in black ink. She thinks about a night weeks earlier in which she found herself at a bar. She considers how differently things could have played out. That night could have led to a binge of epic proportions. She feels the guilt setting in.

She exhales, and finds tears spilling from her eyes. She is a female officer in the United States Marine Corp. She has served her country for more than fifteen years. For a brief moment she chides herself for ever agreeing to come to JAG. Every relationship that she has ever had has completely crumbled. The longest relationship that she has ever had is with the Marine Corp. She's tried to be so many things, but the only thing that she is certain she is good at is being a marine.

She considers what this development might mean for her career. She realizes that it may be career suicide. If she chooses to see this through she may have to sacrifice the one thing that she loves most. Of course, she may never have this opportunity again. She certainly can't see marriage anywhere in her near future. Truth be told there were a lot of things that she struggled to see in her near future, this being one of them.

The sound of the clock on the wall ticking reminds her of her own. Over the past couple of years the ticking certainly had begun to sound louder. The thought of being a single parent makes her cringe. She's a marine, an alcoholic, and most of all she has absolutely no idea how to be a mother. How could she, with such a poor example. The feelings of confliction, and confusion only deepen the more that she thinks about the situation at hand. She can barely wrap her mind around the idea. She tries to the constant state of nausea she feels.

She tries to lay out an objective list of pros, and cons. She opens the drawer of the bedside stand. She pulls out a yellow legal pad, and an ink pen. She draws a line down the middle. On the left hand side she writes, _Pros_, on the right she scrawls _Cons_. Even once the columns are nearly full, she feels no more certainty than she did before. She tosses the pen, and pad back into the drawer.

* * *

><p>A couple of weeks pass, and Harm notices how cold, and distant Mac seems. She avoids him like the plague. The look in her eyes tells him there is something on her mind. He wonders how long they are going to dance around the truth. They remain civil, and professional, but little is said beyond the subject of work. He sits in his office behind his desk, distracted by the idea that she isn't here yet. He is used to her beating him to the office most days. As of late she shows up right on time, and not a minute early. He looks at his wrist, and realizes that she should be walking in any minute. He ignores the knot in his gut, deciding that today will be the day he confronts her.<p> 


	8. Anything Goes

She lies in an exam room in a blue paper dress. The walls are a color she has determined should be called 'Institutional Eggshell'. The paint is flat, and makes the room seem even more cold, and sterile than it is. The room seems to grow colder with each passing moment. She studies the decorations on the wall. There are posters of female reproductive organs plastering the walls. She sits on the edge of the exam table. She shifts uncomfortably, as she sits on a sheet of white paper. She glances up at the clock on the wall. Her sense of anxiety kicks into high gear as she realizes that she is probably going to be late for work. She groans inwardly, cursing the entire situation. Finally there is a knock on the door, and the physician enters the room.

Her physician enters the room, and takes a seat on a stool. He asks her a hundred and one nosey questions. He reviews her lab work, and then pulls on a pair of gloves to examine her. He pulls out a pair of stirrups. She rolls her eyes, knowing that being in a pair of stirrups first thing in the morning does not make for a promising day. After finishing the pelvic exam he flips on a monitor nearby. She continues to be surrounded by a cloud of mixed feelings, and severe nausea as he asks her if she's ready. She simply nods, fully aware of the fact that she's lying. The truth is that she just wants to get it over with so she can go to work.

She stares up at the white ceiling tiles. She furrows her brow, wondering if they're asbestos tiles. She reminds herself that it is a doctor's office, and that asbestos tiles would be completely inappropriate in such a healthcare setting. The other part of her brain screams that it's an old building, and that it is not out of the realm of possibility. A rhythmic sound interrupts her train of thought. She shifts her gaze to the physician's face. Her physician is grey, and wears thick glasses. He is over sixty. He has been an OB/GYN for thirty years. She tries to estimate the number of babies that he has delivered, but she finds herself completely distracted. She finds her eyes glued to the screen.

"That is your baby's heartbeat."

She feels as if her own heart skips a beat. He points to the screen as he moves the probe, "And that is your baby."

She swallows hard.

"Mac how long have I known you?"

"Since I moved here five years ago," she admits.

He glances at her uniform hanging on the back of a chair, "You're still a marine, I see."

"Yes," she nods.

"With JAG?"

"Yes."

"And unmarried, too?"

"Yes."

"I have delivered thousands of babies in my thirty years of practice. I have taken care of thousands of pregnant women."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I expect honesty."

"Okay?" She furrows her brow.

"I am blunt."

"I know."

"Some people get offended by the questions that I ask."

"I am not easily offended."

"I want to preface my question by saying that I ask every woman the same questions regardless of race, age, marital status, or socio-economic status."

"Okay."

"Do plan on having this baby?"

She swallows hard, "I don't know," she admits, honestly.

He nods as he prints off pictures. He grabs half a dozen pamphlets off the wall. He hands her half a dozen pictures with the pamphlets.

* * *

><p>She hurries out of the office with her stack of pamphlets, and pictures. She locks them in her glove compartment, and hurries off to work. She arrives on time with a couple of minutes to spare. She exits the elevator, and the smell of hot coffee hits her. She swallows hard, and races off to the bathroom. She slams the stall door closed behind her, and proceeds to vomit into the toilet bowl. She tries not to consider how clean it is. She exits the stall when she's finished, and heads to the sink. She proceeds to brush her teeth thoroughly, swish, and wash her hands. She returns her travel sized bottle of mouthwash, toothpaste, and toothbrush into a pocket of her bag.<p>

She exits the bathroom, and makes her way through the bullpen into her office. As she walks towards her office she finds Harm eyeing her suspiciously. She has barely managed to hang up her coat when he enters her office. He clears his throat, and closes the door. He stops directly in front of her desk. She places her bag on the chair. He is standing close enough to her that he can smell her. He furrows his brow.

"Can I help you?" She wonders, trying to ignore the smell of his aftershave.

"Mac we need to talk."

"Now is not the time," she argues.

"You haven't been yourself lately, you seem distracted."

"Harm, please don't go there."

"I'm worried about you," he admits.

She takes a step back, "I appreciate that, but I'm fine."

"You're late," he points out.

_You have no idea how late,_ she thinks to herself. "By two minutes and thirty seconds," she responds.

"What's going on?"

"Traffic sucked," she answers.

"I don't buy it. What's really going on?"

"Stay out of it," she replies.

"Have you been drinking again?"

She furrows her brow, "Why would you think that?"

"Because you smell like mouthwash."

"That isn't a crime. You smell like coffee, and cheap aftershave."

"My aftershave isn't cheap."

"What is your point?"

"Have you been drinking again?"

"No."

"You look like you haven't been sleeping well. You have dark circles under your eyes, and your face is pale. I suspect that you just went into the bathroom, and puked before coming into your office. I am guessing that is why you smell like mouthwash."

"You honestly think that I'm hungover?"

"Are you?"

She doesn't answer him. He expects her to chide him, or deny that she is. He considers that she may even confess that she is. What she does next is completely unexpected, and catches him totally off guard. She starts crying.


	9. Party People

"Whoa!" He hands her a tissue, "I'm sorry."

She wipes the tears from her face, and finds herself totally embarrassed by her uncontrollable display of emotion. She decides to give him what he wants in order to attempt to keep her secret just a little bit longer.

"Mac?"

"You're right."

"I am?" He cocks an eyebrow.

"I haven't been sleeping well," she answers.

"Oh."

"I guess that I can't hide the truth from you."

"No," he agrees, "You can't."

"I have really been struggling lately," she adds continuing to tell the truth.

"I knew that you were. You should have said something."

"I should have said something, you're right," she plays to his ego.

"It's not too late. Tell me now," he begs.

"You were right about everything," she clarifies.

"I was?" He folds his arms across his chest.

"I let things get out of hand. I am so sorry. I knew that I was making a mistake. I just thought that I could hide it from you. I should have known that wouldn't work."

"Yeah, you should have," he nods in agreement.

"I have been drinking again. In fact, I have been drinking a lot, lately."

"Sarah, you should have asked for help. I feel like this is all my fault. I should have paid better attention. I should have said something. I should have confronted you. I feel like I drove you to drink."

"I have no one but myself to blame," she accepts responsibility.

"Maybe you should go home."

"I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"You're hung-over," he articulates as a statement, instead of a question.

"It's just a headache now, I'll take an Advil, and I'll be fine."

"An Advil isn't going to solve all your problems."

"I am going to go to a meeting as soon as I get off work," she vows.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. I need to do this on my own," she insists.

"If you need anything you'll let me know."

"Of course," she agrees.

"I know how hard this was for you to admit. Thank you for being honest with me."

She nods, and he turns to leave the room. He closes the door behind himself. The smell of coffee, and aftershave lingers. She swiftly grabs her trashcan off the floor. Her trash can is the only one in the entire office that is lined. In fact Harriet has double lined her trashcan. There is a waxy paper bag in the bottom, followed by a layer of plastic. She vomits into the trash can. She pours herself a glass of water, and proceeds to rinse her mouth out. She brushes her teeth again. She looks up when she hears knocking at her door.

"Enter," she responds.

Harriet enters the room, and finds Sarah holding the trashcan. Without a word she slips it from her hands.

"The Admiral wants to see you in his office."

"Thank you, Harriet."

"What did you tell…"

Sarah cuts her off, "I told him what he wanted to hear."

Harriet arches an eyebrow, "And what is that, ma'am?"

"That I've been drinking again."

Harriet just grins, "Of course you did."

Mac excuses herself from the room. She heads into the Admiral's office. She expects to find Harm waiting in his office, but he is nowhere to be found.

"Close the hatch," he instructs her.

She nods, and closes the door behind her. She stops in front of the Admiral's desk.

"Have a seat," he insists.

She takes a seat.

"Are you doing alright?"

"I'm fine, sir," she answers.

"Commander Rabb seems to think otherwise."

"He sees what he wants to see," she responds.

"He raises some valid points."

"He has expressed his concern?"

"Yes," he confirms, "And I can't say that I don't share some of his concerns."

"Sir, I don't know what he told you, but he doesn't know what he's talking about."

"I get the impression that he thinks you've been drinking again."

"I can assure you that I have not."

"So if I had you pee in a cup right now I wouldn't find anything?"

"I will certainly pee in a cup, or supply a blood sample if it would put your mind at ease, sir. I do however hope that you can simply take me at my word."

"Colonel, I want to believe what you're telling me."

"You are having doubts, sir?"

"It is pretty clear to me that you are having some out of character behavior as of late."

"Sir, I assure you that it is not what you think."

He squints, "How do you know what I think?"

"I don't," she admits.

"Colonel is there something that you want to tell me?"

"Not at this time, sir."

"Then I won't ask. I would however, like to remind you that if there is something that you need to tell me at some point, I expect you to do so."

"Yes, sir."

"Colonel MacKenzie, I also expect you to be on time. Is that understood?"

"I apologize for my tardiness this morning. I had an appointment that took much longer than expected," she reveals.

"I am going to assume that you had a dental appointment. Dismissed."

"Aye," she quickly scurries out of the room.

* * *

><p>That evening she is sitting at home going through case files for court the following day. As she sits on her couch she finds herself becoming incredibly distracted. She digs a manila folder out of the bottom of the pile. She flips it open, and stares at a stack of pamphlets. She carefully reads through each one of them. She makes her way through the entire stack. She finds a black and white image staring up at her. She removes the image from the folder. She carefully studies each millimeter of the still. She reaches for the phone and dials a familiar number.<p> 


	10. Tell Me How You Like It

Within fifteen minutes someone is knocking on her door. She is still in her uniform despite the fact that it is nearly ten o'clock at night. She looks through the peephole, and unlocks the door. Harriet enters the apartment. Sarah hangs her coat up on the coat rack. They situate themselves on the couch.

"I am sorry that I called so late," she apologizes.

"It's okay. Everyone is asleep at my house."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. Absolutely not. I like to stay up a little later so I can get things done around the house."

"I just didn't know who else to call," she admits.

"How did your appointment go today?"

Sarah flips open the file folder. She pulls out a photo, and hands it to her. Harriet studies the picture, and then shifts her glance. She scrutinizes the look on Sarah's face.

"How are you feeling about all of this?"

"Mostly, I feel puke-y."

Harriet grins, "I noticed."

"I feel like I can't think clearly. I honestly thought I was going to puke on Harm's shoes this morning."

"His aftershave is pretty strong, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Have you told him?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

She shrugs, "I don't know."

"Have you made a decision, yet?"

"This is not the time," Mac answers.

"I understand."

"It is the worst possible timing, under nearly impossible circumstances. I don't know how I would make it work. I don't have the first clue how to be a parent. Every time I think about the word, mother, I start to feel queasy."

"You feel queasy all the time."

"Queasier. I feel sick all of the time. Today Harm confronted me, and I started crying. I feel like I am on an emotional rollercoaster that I just want to get off of. My entire life would have to change. I would have to move. I would probably have to give up my post at JAG, and leave the marine's. I don't know if I am ready for that much change in such a short period of time. I hate change. I hate the idea of doing all of this on my own. Some days it seems as if it would be easier to just leave town, and start all over. I wish that I could take all of this back. I wish I could go back and change it."

"Mac there is something I've been wondering."

"What's that?"

"At first I thought the reason you were conflicted was because you simply weren't ready for a baby, but the more I thought about it the more I realized that might not be the only reason."

"There are a million reasons."

"One of them could be that the father is halfway around the world. If the father was halfway around the world you would never have to tell him, if you didn't want to. You don't have to see him again. If you truly wanted to do all of this on your own, you could. He probably wouldn't find out. On the other hand it seems as if your anxiety level increases when you're at work. Which makes me wonder, if the source of your anxiety is the thought of trying to hide a pregnancy from the father, whom you have to work with every single day. I guess none of that really matters if you aren't going to have the baby."

"You never asked a question," Mac points out.

"Is the father halfway around the world?"

"I think that possibility is pretty slim," Mac admits.

"Not that any of it matters. Did you make an appointment? Do you want me to go with you? I can take you if you want. I'll take the day off work, and…"

Sarah cuts her off, "That's not necessary."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You shouldn't go alone," Harriet warns her.

"I haven't made an appointment."

"You know morning sickness can last the entire first trimester, and…"

"That's what I read," she admits.

"Where?"

"Some completely ridiculous book called, _What To Expect When You're Expecting_."

"That booked seemed did more to cause me paranoia than it did to educate me."

"I haven't read that much of it."

"You should schedule the appointment soon. It's almost Thanksgiving, and offices tend to close for the holidays."

"I'm not going to make an appointment."

Harriet furrows her brow, "You're not? I thought that you said you hadn't made one yet. Do you want me to make one for you?"

"No."

"I don't understand."

She swallows hard, and tries to keep her tears at bay, "Neither do I."

"Mac?"

"I'm going to have the baby."

"You are?"

"Yes," she nods.

Harriet's face lights up. She leans forward, and hugs Mac. She lets go, and tries to gauge Mac's facial expression.

"It's a scary thought, isn't it? The idea of carrying a child for nine months, knowing that will be the easiest part of the journey. Then you spend the next eighteen or more years raising a child in a world that seems pretty bleak sometimes. You know sometimes I feel like my heart lives outside of my body."

"What if I can't do it? I don't have any clue what I'm doing. What if I'm not a good parent? What if I totally screw this child up?"

"You'll screw up. You will make mistakes, and your child will be just fine. There is no such thing as a perfect parent, no matter how much any of us try to be. Sometimes you say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing. The best part about kids is that they are resilient."

"I'm still not ready to tell anyone else."

"That's okay."

"I don't think that I have ever been more scared in my life."

"That's okay," Harriet reassures her.


End file.
